


and wonder about the only souls who can tell which smiles i'm faking

by FandomTales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Depression, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-OT3, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTales/pseuds/FandomTales
Summary: 5:41pm, 312 days post war, harry’s flat.Harry is having one of his bad days. Hermione and Ron take care of him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	and wonder about the only souls who can tell which smiles i'm faking

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my docs for a while as i've debated posting it. it's very much a plotless, self indulgent drabble about this trio. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> title from taylor swift's "'tis the damn season". 10/10 recommend listening evermore if you haven't yet lol.

5:41pm, 312 days post war, harry’s flat

They entered his flat to dead silence. It wasn’t unusual. Hermione stayed in the kitchen unloading grocery bags. She stopped when she heard Ron’s breath hitch.

Turning down the corner of the hallway, she had her wand raised, poised on the offensive. Ron was stopped in front of the bedroom door, stock stiff and staring in. She came up behind him, dropping her arm, something anxious still stirring inside her.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, heart breaking.

They could see him very dimly. His curtains were closed and his room lights were all off. The only light came from the hallway, so Hermione and Ron, standing in the door frame quietly and calmly, still cast shadows across his walls. 

Harry was laid out on his bed. He had the covers pulled around him, eyes glazed. His skin was sallow and his eyes were dark. He looked unwell, there was no other way of putting it; sick of nothing in particular, sick of everything. 

Because Ron had always been more expressive in his caring ways, he crossed the room first. He wasted no time sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed and making himself comfortable.

“How you doing, mate?” he asked. Harry didn’t respond further than a tiny shrug. Ron prattled on. “Doing alright, myself. Stopped in to check on Fred and George while I was picking up groceries. They’re doing good. Miss seeing you around, for sure. The shop is selling out more than ever, they say. I think people are feeling free again.”

Harry looked off to the side and closed his eyes. Hermione watched Ron’s shoulders tense a bit and she knew he was worried he'd said the wrong thing. He looked up at Hermione. She nodded reassuringly. 

“Soon,” Ron said, “soon, I think you might feel free too.”

Ron settled his hand on Harry’s arm, and rubbed up and down it soothingly. Harry didn’t say anything, but he moved his arm towards Ron minutely. 

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione whispered, finally stepping into the dark room.

She took stock of it, flicking quick eyes across his bed, floor, walls. His sheets were sweat through again.

“I think we should head back to our’s for the day, Harry. Is that alright?” Silence stretched on. “Alright.”

Hermione took Harry’s hand in hers and apparated them back. They landed on the bed. Harry looked briefly startled and then, he just looked numb.

For a month after the war, Harry had been drinking and staying up all night and hysterical. After that, after the high of the wins and the pain of the losses wore off, he was numb. 

Now, 312 days post-war, he was mostly okay. Mostly. 

The bad days, though, were bad. On those days, he only liked his bed, dark rooms, and Hermione and Ron. Anything else was unbearable.

“I’m going to go back and unpack the groceries.”

Ron nodded and placed a hand on Harry’s head, tucking the untamed hair behind his ear. “And we’re going to figure out this situation. You look a bit more wild than usual mate, and that’s saying a lot.” He ruffled his hair gently.

Hermione apparated back to Harry’s. She unpacked the groceries, replaced the unused eggs with new ones. She poured the milk down the drain even though it hadn’t gone bad and replaced it anyway. She needed to. Harry ate nearly every meal with one of them, or prepared by them, so it’s not like he needed groceries, but he needed routine, continuity, if he wanted to keep doing mostly okay. 

Hermione had read it in a muggle book about PTSD. They’d all been suffering post- war, and despite the abundance of wizarding wars, there were very little books on how to cope. 

Listening, support, safety. Those were key.

He didn’t talk much, which barred the listening aspect, but they talked in front of him and listened to each other, and that would have to do. 

Support was what they were trying out now. No doubt, as Hermione washed his sheets and took the trash out and opened his blinds to let the sun pour in, Ron was in their flat, washing Harry’s hair by hand and taking a washcloth to his body. There was no embarrassment or shame after the first few times. Ron’s blush faded away. Ron and Hermione were Harry’s people. They’d do anything for him. 

Safety was something they all still struggled with. No matter how many protection spells or veiling spells were cast, it never felt like enough. They even got muggle locks, despite them holding up very poorly against Alohomora, just because.

That was a big thing in muggle books. Just because. The brain after trauma is illogical. The locks made them feel safer. Just because it didn’t make sense, didn’t mean it wasn’t working. 

She apparated back to her and Ron’s flat once she’d done all she’d set out to. 

She’d wanted Harry to move in with them, immediately after the war but he’d refused, taking a flat in a building a few blocks away instead. It maddened her. She just wanted him near. And when he started getting bad, she wanted him to move in even more. She’d asked him again on the first bad day, and without opening his eyes, he whispered: I just can’t. 

She hadn’t known what he’d meant by it then. Now, she thinks she might know. None of them are ready to admit it, so Harry lives in his apartment and they live in theirs and they still all live out of each other’s pockets regardless.

When she entered the bedroom, Harry was already laying down in the middle of their bed, hair wet, watching TV. Ron sat up in bed beside him, shuffling a deck of cards.

That was a new development, sleeping in one bed. 

It started with a screaming nightmare, when they crawled onto the couch with him and he fell back asleep almost immediately. From there, it spiraled until he just began the night with them in their bed.

“Hullo,” Ron greeted, grinning up at her.

She set down her bag and kissed his cheek on her way to the bathroom. 

“Hello, boys, how were things while I was gone?” 

“Took a shower, ate some leftover indian takeaway, and now I’m practicing my muggle magic.”

Hermione laughed, toothbrush hanging from her mouth. “Muggle magic? You can do real magic, Ron.”

He blushed beet red and laughed. “Yeah, but this takes some practice. It’s gonna be my party trick.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a knockout.”

Harry laughed a little. Hermione glanced up at him through the mirror’s reflection. He was watching them volley conversation back and forth, apparently, and he looked a little stunned at the attention.

Hermione looked down and Ron began shuffling again. 

“Okay, pick a card, Harry,” Ron said.

Hermione watched in the reflection of the mirror as Harry’s hand came out from under the covers to choose a card from the stack. He waved it around a little, looking vaguely amused.

“No, you can’t show me, it’ll ruin it,” Ron groaned, looking away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, “no harm done. I didn’t really see it.”

He shuffled around a few more cards, and pulled one out. “Is this your card?” he asked.  
Harry shook his head. Ron, baffled, pulled another one. “Is this your card?” Harry shook his head once more. Ron held up another. Head shake. “I’ve got it.” He pulled a card out from behind Harry’s ear with a smooth sleight of hand. Harry nodded, a little smile on his face. 

“Nice,” he said quietly. 

Hermione laughed a little as she crossed the room to the dresser. The muggle magic amused her. Harry too, it seemed.

It felt strange to change in front of them both, but Ron and Harry had been seeing each other naked every bad day, and it felt only fair they saw her naked too. She wondered if that was a weird thought to have and then decided quickly that none of this was normal. She turned away to preserve some modesty as she slipped out of her jeans and sweater into pajamas.

When she turned around, they were both watching the TV. Harry nodded to her a little as she crawled into bed on the other side of him. Ron grinned, eyeing her cheekily. She rolled her eyes and hid her smile as she pulled the lamp light off. 

When it was time to sleep, Ron turned the TV off, and they wiggled down underneath the covers. Hermione took Harry’s glasses off his face and set them gently on her nightstand.

“Hi,” she whispered, reaching a hand up through the dark to brush the hair from his face. She scratched at his scalp a little, working through the little knots. Ron watched them reverently. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and they all fell asleep blissfully peaceful.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3  
> leave a kudos or comment if you liked!! constructive criticism always welcome.


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